


Lay Me In Your Arms

by Lokiscribe



Series: To Go On Living [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Castration, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki's Hair, Loki's Punishments, Loki-centric, Mother-Son Relationship, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Poor Loki, Post-Avengers (2012), Slave Loki, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokiscribe/pseuds/Lokiscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As punishment for his crimes on Midgard, Loki has been forced into slavery on Asgard. Initially resistant to his fate, he is now completely broken down from months of constant torture and abuse. </p><p>Nine months after his sentencing, Loki experiences a reunion with his mother Frigga, who has never supported his enslavement and has only stayed away from him on Odin's orders. </p><p>***</p><p>"No. She would not feign apathy any longer. Not when her boy was being mistreated. </p><p>She rose from the chair in which she sat and determinedly moved to exit her chambers. </p><p><em> ‘My place’ be damned,</em> she thought to herself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you all enjoy this. I've worked really hard over the past week to get this done for you guys. Thank you so much for all your support.
> 
> ***
> 
> For those who are new to the series, I recommend you read the first two installments before reading this.

_Monotony. Tedium. Drudgery. Pain._

Loki was scrubbing floors yet again. Pain in his knees, from the hard stone floor. In his fingers, from pressing the brush into the ground and scrubbing the bristles across the stones . In his back, from such an extended amount of time in an awkward position, only made worse by the thick scars that covered every inch of the skin surrounding his all-too-visible spine. Arms shaking as he moved the brush back and forth. Sleeves of his meager tunic damp from reaching into the bucket of murky water to remove the dirt from the bristles. 

How often did floors possibly need to be cleaned? It seemed he now spent half his life on his knees with a wet brush in hand. He never performed adequately enough; that was evident from the way the guards reacted to his work, so why did he find himself here again and again? Maybe it was just because they knew who he was, knew about his heritage, wanted to abuse him at any opportunity… 

Or perhaps it was just a way to ensure that his days remained a never-ending cycle of dreariness and insipidity. 

_Exhaustion. Punishment. Labor. I want to sleep…_

Even the work that lacked in physical difficulty had its own challenges. Serving food to nobles - another task to which he was frequently assigned - put no particular stress on the body, yet there were all of the various rules of slave etiquette that he never seemed to fully remember. Keep your head down. Don’t speak except to offer your services. Don’t touch anyone. Refill drinks promptly; don’t wait until you are asked. Walk quietly. Be invisible unless you are needed. 

It was all a very difficult game to play, for no matter how hard he attempted to be a satisfactory slave, there always seemed to be someone ready to backhand him (or worse) for his incompetence. He’d been accused of so many offenses - dropping a crumb on the floor, working too slowly, distracting his betters from their conversation and merriment. 

In the end, it was not so much about his performance, he knew, but about the fact that he was a filthy thrall, detestably inferior, whose existence was only permissible so that he might serve those more worthy than himself. The services he provided were both necessary and too demeaning for anyone else to carry out, but his pathetic presence was still repulsive to all who did not share his station. 

Waiting on nobles was at least easy to rationalize - even immortals had to eat, and more often than not, they ate a _lot._ Loki himself had observed Thor and his companions eating obscene amounts of food on a daily basis. Naturally, someone had to serve all of that food, as well as attend to whatever other needs must be met. It was mercifully simple to justify the situation.

But even so, the hardships of slavery were ever more salient, and ever more frequent, than the reprieves.

_Hunger. Pain. Work. More work. I need to rest…_

For two days now, he’d been in the kitchens from dawn until dusk, washing dishes, trays, and goblets, scrubbing crusted food from each surface just as he so often did with the dirt on the floors. The sameness was maddening, and the kitchens were so _hot_. He could see that the other slaves, too, had sweat glistening on their faces, but for him it was especially torturous given his Jotun heritage. 

He could make no excuses, though. The standard of labor expected from him was no different than that of his peers. 

And it was a standard that was already unreasonably high. It mattered to no one whether slaves were pushed beyond their limits - they were not people and as such did not merit the same courtesies granted to others above them. Yes, they were exhausted, they were starving, they were broken down. But they had to complete all the work assigned to them, and complete it well, else they would be beaten. And this in itself was motivation to keep going, even when they had nothing left. 

_Not good enough. Pain. I deserve this…_

He’d been hoping for a task that didn’t involve water, after two days on dish duty, but he’d experienced no such luck. Already his hands were dry from the constant wetness of the past forty-eight hours, and now that he found himself in the laundry rooms, the dryness was only bound to get worse. Add that to the fact that he’d been whipped the day before - they’d said he had chipped a plate, and it wasn’t as if he could tell the overseers he had no memory of doing so - and it was turning out to be a very unpleasant day indeed. 

The mere sight of water made him cringe, but he had to keep working. Mounds of clothing waited to be washed, reeking of body odor and sweat. He was not the only slave laboring here, but even between the group of them, they would have a hard time finishing by the end of the day. And if they failed to complete the task, not only would they be punished, but they would have to wash the leftover clothing the next day in addition to garments newly added to the pile. Even _more_ impossible, and guaranteed to lead to yet _another_ beating. Which would only make subsequent labor more challenging.

_Fatigue. Feebleness. Please give me food…_

Outdoor work was particularly difficult, despite the opportunity to escape the confines of the palace. Whether it was building a new wall for the garden (heavy lifting) or tending the flowerbeds (similar to scrubbing floors in the pain that it caused), the presence of the overseers was especially daunting in these situations. Because the relevant authorities believed it to be easier for a slave to escape when working outside, outdoor overseers, unlike indoor ones, never left the slaves alone. And to make matters worse, these overseers wore whips on their belt at all times. In theory, this was to dissuade the slaves from attempting to run - not that any slave would _ever_ risk inciting the punishment that would bring - but in reality, it was just an excuse to lash out whenever they felt it necessary. In other words, extremely frequently. 

So in addition to the hunger and exhaustion, there was also the constant fear of a white-hot pain flaming across the back. 

And that fear was the single worst part of his enslavement. 

_Necessity. No other choice. Pain. Help me…_

*****  
Frigga’s restraint was nearly at an end. 

For nine months now, she’d held herself together, obeying the command of her husband the King and pretending as though her youngest son had never existed to her. 

As a mother, it absolutely, unequivocally tortured her very soul. It was counter to everything she believed in as a woman, as an individual! The mere thought of disregarding a child of her own was disgusting to her. Yet somehow, that was exactly what she had continually done for the better part of a year. 

It was not only disregard, no, it was _complicity_. For in her passivity, she had allowed _horrible_ things to happen to her son Loki. She knew not for certain what he had gone through, but she knew enough about how slaves were treated to formulate a fair approximation in her mind. She’d been aware since young adulthood, when many of the unpleasantries of real life had first become known to her. It had appalled her then and appalled her still, but it had never really been her place to speak out on the matter. Even now that she was the Queen, it was the free citizens she was supposed to look out for, and her obligations to them were more than sufficient to occupy her time. 

But what was expected from her seemed irrelevant now that her child was afflicted. 

Her own son! 

No. She would not feign apathy any longer. Not when her boy was being mistreated. 

She rose from the chair in which she sat and determinedly moved to exit her chambers. 

_‘My place’ be damned,_ she thought to herself.

*****

Loki hadn’t seen a sympathetic face in over three months. 

That’s how long it had been since Thor had rescued him from an Enforcer’s abuse and brought him to the safety of his personal chambers for a short while one morning. It hadn’t lasted, naturally, and he’d been returned to the custody of the same individuals who had prompted Thor to interfere in the first place. 

He’d expected, after seeing the distress his former brother derived from Loki’s appearance, that Thor would continue to seek him out, to foolishly check on him, to attempt to ensure that he wasn’t treated as the slave that he was. 

But he did not see Thor again. 

Odin had probably forbidden him to try, Loki thought. Despite the honest concern the Allfather had seemed to show for his wellbeing four months ago, he knew that as king, Odin would enforce his sentence, even if it pained him to do so. 

After seeing Thor, Loki had initially maintained a small hope is his heart; a hope that perhaps he would see the thunder god again soon. He may have hated Thor in the past, but now that Thor was the only one guaranteed not to deliver him a beating, Loki found himself craving Thor’s presence. 

The longing dulled after a few weeks, though, when Thor did not appear and Loki’s days settled back into their regular horror of pain and terror and hardship. He became numb once more, apart from the fear that paralyzed his emotions at every waking moment. He was beaten often, and his body always hurt. And then there was the shame of his pitiful appearance, so far removed from the image he had once presented as a prince. Usually he could count on his betters to ignore a lowly slave, but still too often he found himself the targeted of disgusted glares from every sort of person who walked the castle. He was beneath them all, and they all believed him to be scum. Their glares reminded him continually of his status, as did his cropped hair and filthy clothes… and the scar beneath his cock, where the Enforcers had cut him with that… that _blade_ … Every time he relieved himself, he was reminded of this ultimate disgrace. No longer a man. No longer a human. Only a slave. A hated, worthless, _verminous_ slave. 

This was his life now, and there was no escaping it. He forced himself to get through each day because he knew he would never be allowed to give up. He had to complete the work assigned to him if he wished to avoid unimaginable amounts of pain, and the overseers had absolutely no regard for the physical or emotional health of their slaves. 

Numbness only slightly dulled the perpetual desperation and despair that consumed his existence. 

*****

It required a bit of investigation, but Frigga acquired the information she needed on Loki’s assignment for the day. It would have been easiest to ask someone directly, but any palace employee was liable to inform Odin, and that really wouldn’t do. Her husband wasn’t intentionally evil, she knew, but he did harbor a misguided sense of obligation when it came to the punishment of their son for his crimes on Midgard, and more than likely he would stop her if he found out what she was up to. 

Therefore, speaking to anyone was out of the question. Stealth was the only option. Luckily, all of her years as the queen had trained her to walk in a way that was not only graceful but also quite silent. Moving through the palace in deceptively simple clothing and covering her head to shield her face made her all but unnoticeable to others as she walked the hallways. Not a single glance passed her way when she located a compilation of documents containing servants’ records and began to flip through it. 

She determined her disgraced son’s location without difficulty and swiftly headed on her way.

*****

There were many overseers in the employ of the palace, and none of them were kind or merciful. But one of them had an especial hatred of Loki. 

The former prince hadn’t the faintest clue why this man hated him so. He hadn’t interacted with him at all in his former life; hadn’t seen the man with enough frequency to recognize his face. Loki didn’t know his name, but he knew without question that the man _despised_ him. 

Fortunately, because of the large number of overseers, he only occasionally found himself under the command of this one in particular. But when he did, it was hell. 

This overseer would focus solely on Loki, directing his attention away from the other slaves so that he might torment the enslaved Jotun with heightened focus. He forced Loki to work ever faster, threatening to whip him senseless if he did not pick up the pace. He continuously insulted him with extremely derogatory words, words reserved for the most despicable sort of being in Asgardian society. He taunted Loki for his parentage, called him a freak and a monster, mockingly called him prince and let him know how unworthy he was. And throughout all of this, he would lash out with the cane he liked to carry with him, forming deep blue bruises on Loki’s deathly pale skin. 

The days he worked under this overseer always left him whimpering in pain at night, unable to find a sleeping position that did not put pressure on one of the afflicted areas. 

And it was just his luck that today was one of those days. 

*****

Incidentally, Frigga’s destination was one she had visited not too long ago, just the previous week in fact. It was a sort of commons located in a small area of the palace where some commoners could stay if they’d traveled a long distance to seek assistance from the royal family. Not everyone could stay there of course; Asgard _did_ have _such_ a focus on differences: rich and poor, men and women… free and enslaved… 

She didn’t know what to expect when she reached the commons; the servant labor schedules from which she’d gotten her information only included information about location, not the details of the assignment. Servants needed only to know which tasks would be taken care of by slaves and were therefore not their concern; the specifics of slave labor were the concern of the overseers. 

So she knew only the place where Loki was working. She did not know what sort of labor he would be performing or what conditions she would find him in. It gave her a sickening feeling of helplessness. Unimaginable things had, in all probability, been done to her boy, and she had done nothing to stop it. 

She understood, of course, that Loki had to be punished. His crimes horrified her to the very core. But she could not, as a mother, condone the sentence he had been given. She’d pleaded with Odin, of course, but it had been to no avail.

It was only her sincere love of her husband that had kept her from leaving him. However, while they remained together, Odin’s insistence on slavery as a punishment certainly drove a wedge between them. It had been days before she could bring herself to seek his presence once more. And even now, she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes without remembering his rejection of their son. 

It was conflicting in so many ways. It seemed that she either had to forsake her son or her husband, and neither alternative gave her pleasure. Yet it seemed she had no choice. She simply couldn’t continue living as she had these past nine months. 

Still, she wasn’t sure that things would improve much once she had seen him. After all, what could she do for him, given his status? 

But she had to at least see him. What kind of a mother was she, not to monitor the welfare of her son? The worst kind, she feared. 

She’d lately not been a proper mother at all, but she’d correct that now; she’d find a way to fulfill _all_ of her obligations in life. 

She’d make everything alright, for the sake of her family. 

*****

As he’d expected, Loki’s day was turning out to be quite a wretched one, indeed. 

It was the smallest of negligences, he thought to himself desperately. Surely he didn’t deserve such wrath? 

He had apparently allowed his hair to become unacceptable according to the regulations laid out under the slave code. It was a matter of length, and though Loki had never learned how the standards were determined, it was evident that he wasn’t currently meeting those standards. Loki knew how hair maintenance worked; he’d had to report at least five times during his captivity to ensure that his status remained visibly unmistakable, but this time he’d forgotten amidst his exhaustion and terror.

And the overseer in charge, the one that hated him so, had seized the opportunity to lash out. 

Currently Loki found himself awkwardly crouching in a partial kneel, wincing and crying out as his aggressor practically attacked him with a blunt knife. The intent was to cut hair, not to inflict wounds, but the overseer was not overly concerned about causing damage, and several times he’d missed his target, the blade pushing past hair and penetrating skin on his scalp. The violence had caused thin but multitudinous trails of blood to run down his face and neck. He’d had worse, certainly, but he still wanted to be free from this man’s evil grasp. But no matter how he tried to reach up and defend himself, he was unable to get away or stop the assault. Then suddenly, a female voice rang out, loudly and firmly. 

“You will take your hands _off_ of my son.”

The voice sounded authoritative. Almost dangerously so. 

_It was a familiar voice_. Loki’s eyes shot open. He was stunned to see his mother, Frigga, standing right in front of them. The urge to cry was suddenly overwhelming. 

\----

The overseer did not let go at first. In fact, his grip tightened in confusion, and he inquired, “Your Majesty…?” 

_“Let. Go. Of. Him.”_ Frigga ordered again, her eyes blazing with severity. Hatred burned inside of her, and if she hadn’t been so morally upright, she would have torn this sadist apart with her bare hands. 

Finally, the overseer released Loki and he immediately fell to the floor, hands going to his head to clutch at his bleeding scalp. In an instant, she swept toward him, bending down to pull him into her arms. 

She looked at the overseer with fire in her eyes. “Get out of my sight,” she spat. “Speak nothing of this or I will make you sorry you did. And leave, all of you,” she ordered, addressing the other slaves in the room. The slaves instantly stood to obey, looking to the overseer for permission. The Queen may have been of higher rank, but it was the overseer they feared, so they dared not follow the order until they could be assured they would not hurt for it. 

After a moment of staring in astonishment at Frigga, the overseer swept off down the hall, the line of slaves hurrying after him. 

They were barely out of sight before Loki lost control, tears flowing from him like a waterfall. 

“Oh, my boy,” Frigga murmured, pulling him close. His blood stained her hands, but it did not faze her. Her mothering instincts were on overdrive, seeing her son in this state. Nothing would be able to stop her from comforting him. Not now that mother and son were together once more…

\----

Unlike the times when he had encountered Odin and Thor, Loki felt no fear in this moment, for he knew Frigga would never harm him. No, he only felt intense sorrow. In the presence of the first truly “safe” individual he had seen in nine months, he could no longer hide his emotions. He let himself go, the tears he’d contained for so long spilling forth, rushing down his cheeks in harsh sobs. Frigga allowed him to cry as she held him, rocking him as though he were an infant. He locked his arms around her and squeezed them tightly about her waist, as if to assure himself that she was really there. 

Frigga seemed to read his mind and whispered soothingly, “I’m here, my child, I’m here.” 

“Mother,” he sobbed, pressing his cheek into her chest. 

“Oh Loki,” she murmured. “My sweet boy.” 

The two knelt there a while longer, clutching each other ever harder, before Frigga glanced over her shoulder. “We should leave here, before we are seen,” she urged. 

Loki knew it would not be favorable for them to be sighted in each other’s company, so, wiping his tears away, he nodded in agreement. Wincing, he tried to stand up. Frigga noticed his pain and moved to assist him, casting a spell to disguise their identities before leading him to her chambers. 

It was a place Loki had been often as a child. He had always had a connection with Frigga that he’d never had with Odin or Thor, and she was the one person who had made him feel wanted during his childhood. As such, he’d spent a lot of time with her in private in these rooms, reading by the fire or listening to stories about Asgardian history. 

It was strange to be back there now, though. So familiar, yet so contrary to the conditions he now lived in. 

“You’re bleeding,” Frigga said, releasing her spell now that there was no danger of being seen. “We must attend to your injuries. And bathe you as well, I think.” 

She led him into her bathing chamber, laying him softly on the step next to the tub before moving to start the water. With tub was steadily filling, Frigga gently helped him out of his clothes. Her care was astonishing to him; it seemed an age since he had been handled so delicately and with such concern for his comfort. 

When he was naked, she carefully lifted him up and helped him step into the bath, the warmth of which made him gasp. Despite the frigid bathing temperatures he had become accustomed to, this water wasn’t too hot at all, no, it was _bliss_ after so long with nothing but an occasional bucket of freezing water to wash with. Surely he was in Valhalla! He wished this would go on forever…

He tensed for a moment when Frigga touched his arm, but he relaxed upon remembering that it was only her; that touch was not an indicator of forthcoming pain in his current situation. She noticed his reaction and gave him a sad smile. 

“I won’t hurt you, Loki,” she assured him softly. “I only mean to wash you. I’m going to use this cloth on you,” she said, showing him. “And if I am ever hurting you, tell me, and I will stop.”

Loki nodded and took a breath to steady his nerves. Frigga began with his arms, gently scrubbing down the length of each, careful not to irritate any of the sores there. She did the same with his chest, lathering him with soap and cleaning off the grime that had accumulated after months of inadequate hygiene. 

She cleaned his whole body like this, but when she came to his back, she stopped short, pain spreading across her face as she took in the sight of his scarred flesh. She held one hand to her mouth while the other tentatively reached out to lightly feel a particularly thick scar on the back of his right shoulder. 

“Loki, my son, I am so sorry,” she said, looking at him imploringly. “I should never have let this happen to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Don’t blame yourself, Mother. I know it is not you that has reduced me to this.” 

“But still… your ruined body… would you like me to heal the scars? I could make the skin look new again - ”

“No!” Loki cried. He looked down sheepishly. “I apologize, it’s just that… I’ve been beaten so many times that I’ve lost much of the sensation in my back. If you heal the scars, I’ll be able to feel all of the pain once again. And I can’t take that, I can’t. So please, don’t,” he pleaded. 

“Alright, alright,” she soothed, although inside her heart was breaking. “I won’t, darling. But if there is anything I can get for you, please tell me and I’ll try to get it for you.”

Loki eyes welled up with tears. “There are many things I want, mother. A warm bed at night. Better clothing. _Food._ As long as I am a slave, I will not have these things, and you will only bring trouble on yourself if you attempt to provide them for me.”

Frigga’s eyes closed, tears leaking out from underneath her eyelids. “I’ve allowed you to suffer for so long, Loki. I don’t wish to allow it any longer.”

Loki looked away in distress. “All there will ever be… is pain…” 

Frigga pulled him into a hug again, allowing him to cry on her shoulder. The feeling of a warm, safe embrace was something Loki so desperately needed, and he could tell that his mother had missed him as badly as he’d missed her. How wonderful to be back in her arms… 

After an appreciable but still much too short length of time, Frigga pulled back. “We should do something about your head,” she said. “Such a terrible sight! I could not believe the violence…” 

Loki chose not to tell her that he’d had much worse. Instead he allowed her to wet the cloth once more and drew it across his scalp, putting light pressure on the places where sharp steel had broken skin. He saw her mouth harden into a thin line, sensing her displeasure at the wounds. “How could anyone do this?” she muttered darkly. “It is beyond atrocious.” 

“They’re all like that, to an extent,” Loki responded quietly. 

A single tear rolled down Frigga’s cheek. “I wish it were not so.” 

Loki said nothing. He assumed it was obvious that he wished that as well. 

“I just… I just forgot…”

“Forgot what?” 

“Forgot about my hair… It’s our responsibility…” 

“To keep it the right length?”

“Yes,” Loki told her. 

“Well. I shan’t allow further harm to come to you over this,” she said determinedly. Having cleared away all the blood by now, she summoned one of her attendants to fetch her a small pair of scissors so that she could cut his hair. 

Once she had them in her hand, she took folds of his black hair in her hand one at a time, snipping some of the length from each strand to make his appearance more acceptable to those who controlled him. Loki felt relief, despite the fact that he hated no longer having the right to control what he looked like. At least the overseers would have one less reason to target him now. 

“There,” Frigga declared when she’d finished. She offered him a handheld mirror. “I hardly think anyone will object now, don’t you think?” 

Loki shot a quick glance at the reflective glass before looking away. He didn’t like to spend much time looking into mirrors nowadays. It reminded him how far he’d fallen. 

“Yes, that should be sufficient. Thank you, mother.”

Frigga smiled. “It was nothing, darling. Now, here, lean on me.” Slowly and painstakingly, she helped him step out of the tub, supporting his weight as he struggled to get to his feet. She continued to assist him even as she reached over to drain the water from the tub and then to fetch a towel. 

“I imagine I must look rather pathetic,” Loki said with a weak smile. 

Frigga looked him in the eyes. “Not to me, Loki. I could never view you that way.”

She began to dry him. “But Loki… why did you do it? Why did you attack Midgard?”

Loki’s cheeks reddened, and he looked away. “I don’t even really know anymore. I think I just wanted to prove that I was worthy to rule, that I was as deserving of a throne as was Thor. But I am not, and now I never shall be…” 

“Don’t say that,” Frigga said firmly. “No matter what your legal status may be, you still have worth and value in my eyes, and don’t you ever forget that.” 

“Thank you, mother.” Loki said quietly. “You are very kind. But how can you consider me worthy of your love when I am such a monster? I am a Frost Giant, and now I am a criminal and a murderer as well. You ought to want nothing to do with me.” 

“You are not a monster, Loki. You are my son, just as Thor is my son, and it matters not to me what race you belong to. I love you as surely as though I had birthed you myself.”

Loki felt a rush of gratitude for Frigga. He still didn’t understand how she could possibly continue to love him, but he could tell that her words were sincere. He realized suddenly that he felt less afraid than he had felt in many, many months. Alarmingly, the feeling was very odd.

Loki hesitated. “It’s strange. I’ve grown so timid around most free men and women…”

“Quite understandably so,” replied Frigga gently. 

“Yes… but with you it’s almost as though nothing has changed. I don’t feel the need to submit to you as I do with others.” 

Frigga seemed to think for a moment. “I would imagine - I would hope - that you understand me to be someone who would never see you as an inferior.”

“I know,” Loki said with a small smile. “You were always the one I could rely on in my youth. The only one, really. Although…”

“Yes? What is it?”

“A number of weeks ago, I saw Thor. He saved me from an abusive situation and brought me to his room, just as you did today. It was the most hospitality he’s ever shown me. So perhaps you’re not the only one any longer.” He furrowed his brow. “It’s so _confusing_ though, because I’ve hated him for so long… part of me feels grateful for his kindness, but the other part of me is loath to allow any favorable opinions of him.”

“Thor loves you, Loki,” said Frigga. "He never intended to cause you pain. He has always been somewhat oblivious to the feelings of others, but I think he will improve in that regard as he matures further and accepts more responsibility.” 

Loki smiled wryly. “He was quite shocked at my condition.”

“How could he not be! It is awful to see you brought so low!”

“No, you misunderstand. He was unaware of the implications of slavery. I believe his exact words were, “I did not realize it would be like this.”

Frigga sighed. “Thor has always wanted to see the best in people. I doubt it ever occurred to him that something so cruel could exist in the realm he calls his home. To him, the ones who do evil are those from other realms whom he fights in war and in battle. But I think he is learning, little by little. And learn he must, if he is to be a good king.” 

“He’ll be a good king,” Loki said quietly, pulling his ragged clothes back on. “I have been critical of his nature in the past, and I believe that I would rule much differently than he if I were to become king, but I think I always knew that he would be exceptional. That’s why I felt so threatened by him.” 

“Thor has many qualities that would make him a good ruler, and so do you. There is no one right way to rule.” She took his elbow to guide him from the wash room. 

Loki winced. “Apparently trying to take over a planet isn’t a good strategy.”

“No,” Frigga said as ushered Loki toward an extravagant plush sofa. “Usually not. But what’s done is done. You cannot undo the past, but you _can_ try to make amends. I only wish you could do it some other way.”

But that wasn’t an option, so Loki didn’t respond. He may not be able to escape the bonds of slavery, but in the current moment his circumstances were remarkably favorable, and he intended to treasure it. He lay down with Frigga on the sofa, cuddling up to her and basking in the warmth that was practically non-existent in his present life.

They lay there for quite some time, and after a while, he realized that Frigga had fallen asleep. Her arms were still wrapped around him, but her grip had loosened and her breathing had slowed. 

He wished he could stay there with her forever. He wished it so badly that it ached. But he knew it wasn’t possible. Not just because he was required to work, but because trouble might find Frigga if she were caught associating with him. It would be even more unacceptable than associating with any other slave, because he was a criminal under punishment. It would not do for a member of the royal family to be seen as coddling a murderer and a traitor. He had to go back to his miserable life, more so for his mother than for anyone or anything else. He would be punished, he was sure, for being absent for so long. But if it meant protecting his mother, then it was a beating he was willing to take. 

He allowed himself a few more blissful moments in her arms, then quietly wiggled himself free and slipped silently out of the Queen’s chambers. 

*****

Frigga awoke to find herself alone, Loki having presumably departed on his own as she slept. His absence made her feel his loss all over again. The visit had not satisfied her need; it had only made her more desperate to alleviate his suffering. She found herself with an even stronger drive to see him, to be with him and be a mother to him. 

She would not keep away this time. She would find a way to see him regularly. 

No matter what it took.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this story is loosely inspired by the song "In Your Arms" by Nico & Vinz.
> 
> Part 4 will be the final installment in the series. It will have multiple chapters and will be posted all at once some time this summer (2015).


End file.
